


KatMan Do

by NyteFlyer



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: AU, Canon Gay Relationship, M/M, faerie tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyteFlyer/pseuds/NyteFlyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd told them not to get muddy paw prints all over the new couch....</p>
            </blockquote>





	KatMan Do

Long ago and far away in a world where a bright double moon lit up the night and a dark sun illuminated the day, the sky was forever the deep velvet blue of dreams.  And under that richly dreaming sky was a little house, as warm and cozy as you please.  And inside that house lived a sleek, black Kat named Timmy.

 

TimmyKat was a lovely fellow in the prime of his nine lives with a white chest and paws and a silky, well-groomed coat.  He was smarter than the average Kat, though far too modest to ever say so,  gentle-natured and steadfastly loyal to She Who Fed Him.  His only flaw, if you could call it that, was this:  TimmyKat never purred.

 

Truth to tell, he didn’t know how.  He was fairly certain he had the proper equipment – he was a Kat, after all – and he was safe and healthy and well fed.  And it wasn’t that he was unhappy.  Far from it!  He had a good home and his own soft, warm bed.  His food dish was always full of good things to eat and his water dish never went empty.  Whenever he craved attention, one plaintive meow usually brought more fur-stroking and chin-scratching than less fortunate felines could ever hope for.  He was never cold and he was rarely hungry, and for that he was wise enough to be grateful.  But if his life lacked valleys, it also lacked peaks, and if no harm ever came his way, neither did joy.  He knew pleasures and comforts aplenty, but none intense enough to carry him across the line of contentment into ecstatic, chest-rumbling bliss.

 

Still, he rarely gave his purrless existence more than a passing thought.  More important matters required his attention, like basking in the light of the dim sun or bright double moon, washing his face and his paws and his long, handsome whiskers, or wondering if She would remember to pick up cream at the market and how long it would take Her to give him his share.  Life was just about as good as a KatLife could be, and as far as TimmyKat was concerned, that was good enough. 

 

One cold and rainy morning midpoint between The Witching Hour and First Light, TimmyKat lounged on the end of the couch nearest the fire, grooming his sleek, black fur as he thought of fat rats, soft blankets, and buttermilk.  Suddenly, he heard a scuffling sound in the next room, but did his best to ignore it.  He’d had a hard night of watching for mice or other unwelcome intruders, keeping the couch cushions warm, and checking periodically to make sure no untidy leftovers remained in his food dish.  She Who Fed Him, who was a Spell-Caster and Hexologist by trade,  would soon be home from working the Graveyard Shift and looking forward to the companionship and undivided attention of Her favorite Familiar.  With all of his numerous and important responsibilities, he didn’t have time to worry about whatever That Dawg was up to.

 

That Dawg was a regular fly in the milk bowl, a long-eared, snuffle-nosed Beagledy-Thing with oversized paws and an energy level to match.  It was forever jumping and bumping, licking and drooling, filling the house with hot Dawgy smells and the sound of breaking crockery.  She Who Fed Him did not make mistakes – that was the party line and TimmyKat was sticking to it.  But the day She’d roared through the front door on Her favorite broomstick with that yapping, scratching Thing frisking about in the rumble seat, he’d wondered if Her non-mistake-making days had come to an end. 

 

TimmyKat sighed with satisfaction as the fur on his tail lay neat and gleaming beneath his tongue.  He stretched as luxuriously as any Kat could stretch, then kneaded the cushion with his trim, white paws, carefully keeping his claws retracted to avoid snagging the soft burgundy fabric.  The Beagledy-Thing – which was named PuppyDonaldDawg, if such Things could be said to have names – had covered the upholstery in muddy paw prints not two mornings before.  It had taken nearly an hour of scrubbing and some of Her witchiest witchery to keep the fragile fabric from staining.  PuppyDonaldDawg had spent the day outside in a leaky Dawghouse as punishment, then received a thorough, soapity-smelling, water-sloshity dousing in the tub before She flew off on Her nightly rounds.  TimmyKat had never required a bath – he was far too fastidious for that!   And he’d certainly never been outside, consigned to a leaky Dawghouse or not.  But he’d seen enough from his favorite perch by the kitchen window to know he was an InsideKat through and through.  He had no intension of finding out how the other half lived. 

 

He’d felt bad for the Dawg-Thing, of course.  TimmyKat was basically kind, as Kats go, and perhaps more so than most.  He’d seen the sadness in the expressive blue eyes – odd for a Dawg and suggesting an almost Feline intelligence – and heard the muffled whining through the kitchen window.  But honestly, what could a Kat do?  PuppyDonaldDawg’s short, golden coat had dried out, eventually, and he’d smelled considerably less Dawgy ever since.  So much so, in fact, that TimmyKat had almost – _almost –_ considered allowing the snufflty, wiggledy Thing to curl up beside him on the couch last time he came begging.

 

Almost.

 

His tail tip glistening the way only an immaculately groomed Kat tail can, TimmyKat yawned and curled into a furry ball, hoping to refresh himself with a wink or two of beauty sleep before She arrived and demanded his attention.  Warm and snug and looking even more appealing than any Kat had a right to, he was just beginning to drift off when the scuffling sound came nearer.  Suddenly, a cold, wet Nose shoved its way into his ear.

 

 _“SNORF!”_ The Nose said quite moistly.

 

TinmyKat shook his head in annoyance and batted The Nose away, hoping the impertinent snout and its even more impertinent owner would take the hint for once and leave him in peace.  But in less time than it took to twitch a tail or pounce on a mouse, The Nose was back, bringing the whole Dawg-Thing with it.  PuppyDonaldDawg landed on top of him with enough force to bring an “ _oof_ ” from both of them, then jiggled and bounced, trampling TimmyKat’s immaculately groomed tail and saturating his face and ears with great sloppity laps of his tongue.  Nearly as frightened as he was furious, TimmyKat struggled out from under the oversized Puppy paws and backed against the arm of the couch, spine arched and hair standing on end, hissing.  Tail wagging madly, PuppyDonaldDawg whined and lunged, bowling TimmyKat over and seizing his head briefly in a great, wet, Dawgy mouth.

 

That’s when TimmyKat did The Bad Thing He’d Never Done Before – he batted at PuppyDonaldDawg again, this time with his claws unsheathed. 

 

PuppyDonaldDawg yelped as a sharp Kat claw hooked his upper lip.  He tried to scramble away, but the two of them were in such a tangle that he dragged TimmyKat with him as he toppled backward off the couch.  Yowling for all he was worth and scrabbling for a hold, TimmyKat felt his claws sink into something soft once again.  But this time instead of a yelp, he heard a ripping sound. 

 

The instant they hit the floor, the front door flew open and She swooped in, barely pausing long enough to park Her broomstick by the hearth before scooping them both up by the scuffs of their necks and giving them an impatient shake. 

 

“Can’t we have a moment’s peace in this house?” She demanded in Her most screechity scratch of a Witchy voice.  “Just look what you’ve done!  Paw prints and blood on my beautiful couch, and you’ve ripped the fabric!  And the noise!  I could hear you half a block away.  I’ve had enough.  I know the two of you have your differences, but I was hoping you’d have found at least a little bit of common ground by now.  If you can’t find it on your own, it seems I’ll have to give you a little help.  _Al-a-ka-ZOT!”_ She cried as She released them both.

 

TimmyKat felt hot and cold all at once, his skin crawling and tingling as if a million frenzied fleas were dancing the Jitterbug in his fur.  His head or the room spun – he wasn’t sure which – and he felt some Great Change take place, as if he were inside his body and outside of it all at the same time.  By the time the spinning stopped, She had snatched up Her broomstick once more and was heading for the door. 

 

“I’m spending the day at Myrtle’s,” She said.  “She has a spare room in her attic I can use.  I never get a minute’s rest with you two at each other’s throats night and day and need some time to myself.  Besides, Myrtle turned her sister-in-law into a toad a week ago last Tuesday, so her brother Barnabas the Crypt Keeper is single and looking for an enchantress with fewer warts than his ex.  Maybe he’ll stop by Myrtle’s and I’ll get lucky.  But your luck is about to run out,” she said, giving them both The Evil Eye.  “Learn to communicate with each other.  Find your common ground.  Use the next 24 hours wisely, or I promise you, you’ll both be in the doghouse by this time tomorrow morning!  And need I remind you, it leaks!” 

 

TimmyKat needed no reminder.  He shivered, feeling strangely chilly in the snug little house.  When he tried to curl up on his favorite end of the couch, everything seemed…off.  The fire was still crackling, and his favorite cushion was still soft and inviting.  But something was wrong.  He couldn’t get comfortable and he couldn’t get warm, and nothing about his body or anything around it seemed the right size or the right shape.  It was almost as if….

 

“What…” he choked on the word because it was just that, a Word and not his usual, soft meow.  It was an actual ManWord in actual ManSpeak, like She and Her Coven-Mates and the paper boy used.  And if a perfectly respectable Kat suddenly found himself babbling along in ManSpeak, it could only mean one thing. 

 

TimmyKat sprang from the couch and rushed to Her bedroom, coming to a halt in front of the long, gilt mirror there.  At the very first glance, one of his nine carefully guarded lives slipped away from pure shock, and as he continued to stare at the unfamiliar reflection, a second life threatened to follow.  There was no sleek and handsome Feline fellow staring back at him from the shimmering glass, but a Human, impossibly large and pale and undeniably male. 

 

“Is that really…you?” 

 

Startled, TimmyKat spun on his heel.  In the doorway stood an unfamiliar Human, short where TimmyKat was tall and muscular where TimmyKat was slender, with spiky golden hair and all-too-familiar blue eyes.  Blood oozed from a painful-looking gash just above his upper lip.

 

“I suppose that depends on which ‘you’ you’re referring to,” TimmyKat replied slowly, trying the ManSpeak on for size. 

 

“TimmyKat, I mean,” the Human said, smiling faintly as his eyes travelled the length of TimmyKat’s new body from nose to toes and back up again. 

 

For the first time in his life, TimmyKat felt awkward and exposed and vaguely ashamed.  Though the rest of him was cold, his face turned decidedly hot.  Snatching a robe off the foot of Her bed, he held it in front of his lower body, nearly dropping it twice as he got used to the sensation of having opposable thumbs at his disposal. 

 

“I _was_ TimmyKat,” he said.  “Now I’m just Timmy, it seems.  Which means you have to be….”

 

“PuppyDonaldDawg,” the Human said.  “At least, I used to be.”

 

“Once a Dawg, always a Dawg.  At least, that’s what my mother always said.  Still, for the sake of brevity, I suppose ‘Donald’ will have to do.”

 

Donald smiled again, but as they stood staring at each other, not quite sure what to do next, the smile faded, and he looked up at Timmy with sad Puppy eyes.  They shivered in unison. 

 

“What happened to us?” Donald asked.

 

“ _She_ happened to us, of course.  You heard what She said.  Or were you too busy chasing your tail to pay attention?”

 

Donald sank down on the edge of the bed with his shoulders hunched forward, looking as hangDawg as ever a Dawg-turned-Human could look.  He shivered again.  “I don’t have a tail, anymore,” he said sadly.  “Or fur.  And I’m _cold_.  I’m colder than I’ve ever been in my life.”

 

“I’m sorry.  That was insensitive of me.”  Timmy sat beside him, settling close enough for their shoulders to touch.  “I know you’re confused and upset.  I miss my beautiful tail and soft, warm fur, too, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

 

Donald leaned into Timmy’s warmth, sighing.  Having bare skin felt strange, and the sensation of Donald’s pale, smooth skin pressing against his was even stranger.  But he had to admit it was a good kind of strange, in a _oh-my-so-this-is-what-lox-tastes-like!_ sort of way.  After a moment’s hesitation, Timmy eased his arm around Donald, drawing him closer still. 

 

“Thanks, Timmy.  That feels nice.”

 

“It does,” Timmy agreed. 

 

“I like being close to you.  I always knew I would.  Why haven’t you ever let me get close to you before?”

 

Timmy had to think about that for a moment.  He wanted Donald to understand where he stood on the matter, but he didn’t want to be rude.  He felt bad enough about The Scratching Incident, as it was.  Donald kept rubbing at the gash above his lip with awkward Human fingers, and each time he touched it, he winced.  Each time he winced, some distant, unfamiliar something inside Timmy felt like it was wincing, too.  Still, Timmy was an honest fellow and unusually straightforward for a Feline, so his only recourse was to lay it on the line.

 

“It’s because you’re a Dawg, you see.”

 

“So what?”

 

“So, you’re a Dawg.  You roll in the mud and rub against dead things and smell awful.  I know you can’t help it.  You’re a Dawg, and smelling awful is a thing Dawgs do.  But I’m a Kat, you see.  I keep myself immaculately clean.  What would She say if I started smelling like dead things, too?”

 

“If I stopped rolling in mud and poop and dead things, would you want to be close to me?”

 

Timmy gave him a long, hard look.  If he’d still had whiskers to twitch, he would have twitched them, and with a vengeance.  “Poop?” 

 

“I don’t do it very often,” Donald said hastily.  “Hardly ever.  And I won’t do it anymore, not if you don’t like it.  If I stayed away from mud and poop and dead things and was really, really careful to only roll in clean grass and flowers, would you want to be close to me then?  Would you let me curl up beside you on the couch and sleep with you by the fire?  I’d like that, you know.  If you gave it half a chance, I think you’d like it, too.”

 

“I might.  At least, I would if you’d stop mistreating me.”

 

“Mistreating you?   I would never mistreat you!  I love you!”

 

“Dawgs don’t love Kats,” Timmy said firmly.  “Dawgs love digging in dirt and eating old, smelly pieces of lizards they find in the yard and chasing Witches when they swoop by on low-flying broomsticks.  They love frightening Kats and stealing their food and hurting them if they get the chance and annoying them any way they can think of, but they don’t love _them_.  They can’t.  They’re Dawgs.”

 

Donald’s eyes turned so PuppyDawg sad that Timmy almost expected him to morph back into his TrueDawgySelf right then and there.  “Timmy, I would never, ever mistreat you!”

 

“What about the times you ate all my food?” Timmy asked, putting a little space between himself and Donald so they could look at each other properly.

 

“I haven’t done that in a long time, not since the time She stayed out all night and most of the day, too, and you kept walking over to your dish and crying.  You sounded so sad, it made me sad, too.  I always thought that if you left food in your dish, it meant you didn’t want it, but that day I saw that you were just saving some for later.  I never save food for later.  It’s not what Dawgs do.”

 

“I’m a Kat.  If I want to stay healthy and maintain my sleek, shiny coat, I need to eat all the food She gives me.  But I’m not like you.  I can’t gobble it all down at once.  If I try, it makes my stomach hurt.  I can only eat a little bit at a time, but I get hungry again later.  If hours go by and there’s nothing for me to eat, my stomach hurts then, too.”

 

“I’m always hungry,” Donald said, “but it doesn’t make me sick, it just makes me empty.”

 

“And greedy!” Timmy added with some spirit.

 

“And greedy,” Donald agreed, laughing a warm, Human laugh that almost made Timmy want to laugh, too.  But he’d never laughed before, and he was too self-conscious to try, especially while they were having A Serious Discussion. 

 

“I admit you haven’t stolen my food in quite a while,” Timmy said, trying to keep The Discussion on course, “but you mistreat me in other ways.  You’re always trying to scare me.  You wait until I’ve settled in to sleep, then snorf in my ear.”

 

“I’m not trying to scare you.  I’m just trying to get your attention.  You sleep all the time, at least when you’re not washing your leg or your face.  It gets really lonely around here with Her away so much and you always washing or napping.  And you never answer when I call for you.”

 

Something occurred to Timmy.  “You always seem to be standing across the room from me, whining and yapping nonstop.  At first I was afraid you might have a nervous condition or rabies, or at least worms or fleas or the mange or something else just awful that wouldn’t let you be still for a second.  Then I decided you were just trying to be annoying.  Could you have been calling for me then?”

 

“Of course, I was!  Didn’t you know?”

 

“I do now,” Timmy said, and seeing the light in Donald’s DawgyBlue eyes made something inside him want to light up, too.  “And next time you call for me, I’ll answer.  At least, I will if you do it at a reasonable volume.”

 

“If I call for you softly and don’t snorf in your ear, will you let me be close to you then?” Donald asked.  “Will you play with me when I’m bored and lonely and sleep with me next to the fire?”

 

“I might,” Timmy said.  “At least, I’d consider it if you’ll promise not to jump on me like you did today.”

 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.  I didn’t mean to.  I just get so excited sometimes, and I have so much energy, it has to get out somehow.  I need to run, and I need to jump, and I need to tussle.”  Donald wriggled a great Beagledy wriggle the way Timmy had seen him wriggle a hundred times before, but seeing him do it now in Human form made Timmy laugh out loud and not feel self-conscious about it even one little bit.

 

“Kats like to run, sometimes.  All Kats like to play chase, especially if we’re the ones doing the chasing.  And we love to jump and sometimes we even like to tussle.  We could try to play together sometime, if you like.  But you need to be more careful.  You’re stronger than I am and heavier, too.  You’re too rough when you play, and I always end up getting hurt.  Sometimes you do, too,”  Timmy said, pointing to Donald’s torn lip.

 

Donald touched the cut.  “Guess I had it coming today, didn’t I?”  He stared down at the trace of blood on his fingers and started to wipe them on Her moss  green eiderdown comforter, but Timmy caught his hand and held it between both of his.

 

“I’m sorry I clawed your lip,” Timmy said.  “I don’t usually lose control like that.”

 

“It was my fault for jumping on you.  You were scared of being squashed.”

 

“That’s no excuse.  It was behavior unbecoming a Kat, and I’m ashamed it happened.  I’d take it back if I could, but there’s no way to do that.  But maybe, if you let me, I can make it feel better.”

 

Timmy released Donald’s hand and gently traced the curve of his mouth with a fingertip.  Donald’s eyes were locked on his, as big and blue as the double moon.  It suddenly occurred to Timmy that he could spend all of his remaining seven lives looking into those eyes. 

 

“I think I’d like to kiss you,” he said.

 

Donald smiled then and placed a warm hand against Timmy’s face.  “I _know_ I’d like to kiss you.  I’ve always wanted to kiss you, but whenever I tried, you hissed at me and pushed me away.”

 

“You’ve licked me often enough, drooling all over my nice, clean face and soaking my fur.  That might be the way Dawgs do it, but it’s not a Kat’s idea of a proper kiss.  And it’s hardly the way Witches or other Humans do it.”

 

“We aren’t Witches or Humans, Timmy.”

 

“We are today.  If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right.”

 

Donald frowned.  “ I want to, I really do.  But I don’t know how.”

 

Timmy thought back to the last Dark Moon when She’d hosted The Circle.  Everyone drank a good deal of mead afterward, enough so that even She’d done a certain amount of unWitchlike giggling.  Once the rest of the Coven had flown home, Draconius, a Warlock of mediocre magical skill but famed good looks, had lingered behind.  Draconius had kissed Her for quite a long time without anyone getting the least bit wet at all.  Timmy had learned a good bit about Human mating behavior that night and might have learned a great deal more if Draconius hadn’t noticed him watching from a bedside chair and ordered him out. 

 

The next day, She’d grumbled about something called a hangover, and the Warlock was toast.  But the memory of those kisses remained. 

 

“I’ve seen it done,” Timmy said.  “I’ve never put it into practice, of course, but I think I understand the basic principles.” 

 

Donald touched his cheek again, rubbing his knuckles along Timmy’s jawline in the gentlest of caresses.  His lips were parted in anticipation, his eyes alight.

 

“Teach me,” he whispered.  “Teach me, please.”

 

And Timmy did.

 

Timmy took a deep, steadying breath and touched his lips to Donald’s.  Donald’s mouth didn’t taste Dawgy at all, just sweet and clean and oddly, almost eerily familiar.  They just pressed their lips lightly together at first, acclimating and savoring, then somehow Donald’s arms were around him and their mouths were moving together as of their own accord, his bottom lip lightly rubbing back and forth across Donald’s.  He’d never felt anything as smooth or as soft in any of his nine lives, never smelled anything as warm and decidedly unDawglike as Donald’s breath mingling with his own.  But when he touched Donald’s top lip with the tip of his tongue, he tasted blood.

 

“Does this hurt?” he asked.

 

“My lip doesn’t hurt at all now,” Donald said.

 

“Liar,” Timmy said.  “I know it has to be sore.  It’s going to leave a scar, you know.”

 

“I hope so.  Then I’ll look tough.  Unless you think it’ll make me ugly…”

 

“I think you’ll be very handsome with a scar.  I think you’re handsome now.”

 

Donald quirked an eyebrow at him.  “So I look better on two legs than I did on four, is that it?” he asked, grinning.

 

“You kiss better and you definitely smell better.  But no, I wouldn’t say you look better.  I’ve always thought you were quite handsome for a Dawg.”

 

Donald laughed long and loud.  “Now who’s the liar?”

 

“I never lie,” Timmy said, feeling slightly miffed.  “Once you know me better, you’ll realize that.  You smelled bad and had awful manners, but I always thought you had a handsome coat with handsome markings…at least when it wasn’t covered in mud or decayed gopher or whatever else you’d rolled in recently.”

 

“And I’ve always thought you were beautiful.  Whether you’re a Kat or a Man, there’s nothing in the world more beautiful as my Timmy.”

 

He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way Donald said _my Timmy_ made Timmy feel even better than the kisses.  “I’m so very sorry I hurt you,” he said again.

 

“Then I guess you’re going to have to kiss me and make me better.”

 

Their lips touched again, more firmly this time.  Donald’s mouth seemed to swell and recede against his, swell and recede in a way that made Timmy’s heart race and a strange heat, prickly but not unpleasant, rise to the surface of his skin.  It was by far the most pleasant thing he had ever experienced, better than warm milk or fresh catnip or even that smoked salmon She had shared with him at Yuletide.  And although he knew – yes, _knew_ – they’d never done anything remotely like this ever before, he couldn’t shake the feeling that what they were doing had less to do with exploration or discovery than it did with simple remembrance.

 

He stroked Donald’s shoulders and back, slid not-quite-steady fingers through Donald’s hair, sighed as Donald pulled away from his mouth long enough to kiss his cheek, his temple, his eyelids.  Although it was time for Timmy to be checking his food dish to see what She’d left him for breakfast, he had much more important things on his mind, like the pleasant heat of Donald’s breath against his neck and the brush of Donald’s hair against his ear, and the way Donald’s hand felt gentle and strong and playful and oddly possessive all at the same time as it stroked his side.  This was certainly worth missing a meal over, and it satisfied him in a way even goose liver and clotted cream could not.

 

He kissed his way down one side of Donald’s neck and up the other, biting him playfully the way he had nipped his Littermates when he was a Kitten.  The feeling of familiarity persisted.  Something about being with Donald this way, touching him like this and holding him close reminded him of those days, that brief time at the Beginning when he was always safe and warm and never, ever alone.  It was that feeling of being part of greater whole, of being complete in and of himself yet completing something else as well.  And although it did remind him of his Kittenhood with his warm Kitten brothers and sisters and his warm PussyKat mother, something about this feeling was solely and distinctly tied to Donald himself.

 

“We’ve done this before,” Donald said.

 

“It’s impossible.  I know it’s impossible.  But I feel the same way.”

 

“Maybe it isn’t impossible.  We were a Dawg and a Kat a little while ago, and now look at us.  Who’s to say what’s possible and what isn’t?  We’ve known each other before.  In a different lifetime, maybe.”

 

“Or on a different world.”

 

“It doesn’t matter where or when.  All I know is that being together like this is right for us.  It’s always been right for us.  And we need to make the most of this chance to get to know everything about each other now.  I want to know what makes you happy and what makes you sad, what feels good to you and what doesn’t.  And most of all, I want to find out how to make you purr.”

 

“I’ve never purred.  It’s odd, I know, but I’m not sure I can.”

 

“You can.  I know you can.  And before She comes home and turns us back into a smelly Dawg and a beautiful Kat, I’m going to prove it!”  With that, Donald scooted up the bed until his back was against the headboard and tossed back the covers.  “Come to bed with me, Timmy,” he said. 

 

Timmy stared at him, suddenly nervous.  “We _are_ on the bed,” he said. 

 

“I don’t want to be _on_ the bed with you, I want to be _in_ it.  You know what I mean.  Like Humans do.”

 

“But it’s against the rules,” said Timmy, who was a stickler for such things and believed strict adherence to any and all regulations was indeed the very cornerstone of civilization as he knew it. 

 

“Who cares?”

 

“She cares!  And we will, too, if She catches us.  We’re not even supposed to be on the bed, and if She comes home and sees….”  Timmy trailed off, silenced by the look in Donald’s eyes.

 

“She said we have 24 hours to find our common ground.  She won’t be home until tomorrow morning.  She won’t catch us, and we’ll put everything back the way it was long before She swoops through the front door.”

 

“The couch—”

 

“We’re Human now, and we take up more space.  There’s more room in here than on the couch, and we’ll be even warmer together under the covers than we would be by the fire.”

 

“What if She comes home early?”

 

“She’s already turned us into Humans, Timmy.  What more could She do to us?”

 

“Turn us into something worse.”

 

“What could be worse?”

 

“I have no idea.  Garden slugs, maybe?”

 

“Garden slugs are kind of cool.  They’re all covered in slime, and if anyone tries to eat them….”

 

“Dawgs are strange,” Timmy said with a sigh.

 

“No stranger than Kats.  Come on, Timmy.  Dawg, Man or slug, I just want to be close to you.  Don’t you want to be close to me?”

 

“Yes, but….”

 

“I get it, you know.  I really do.  Kats want to be safe and warm, and they want to be treated gently.  I’ll keep you warm if you’ll let me, and I promise you’ll always be safe with me.  I know I’m clumsy and rough most of the time, but I can be gentle, too.  If you give me a chance, I’ll prove it.  Come to bed with me, Beautiful,” Donald said quietly, holding out a hand.  “Please.”

 

So Timmy did.

 

Afterward, they curled together like Puppies in a basket and slept a dreamless sleep.  When they awoke, it was midday.  They lay touching and kissing for as long as they could before admitting to themselves and each other that they needed something to eat.  Following a brief but rather heated discussion, Donald learned to operate the WC, finally conceding that it was both more convenient than lifting a leg against the backyard fence and considerably less conspicuous while he was in Human form.  Timmy did as well, deeming it even more sanitary than his own tidy litter box.  They took a shower together – this time it was Timmy who needed convincing – and once the water temperature was adjusted properly, they found the warm spray pleasant and  invigorating. 

 

Drying off with towels instead of giving themselves a good shake and thorough licking took some getting used to, of course.  But soon they were warm and dry and ready to go in search of breakfast, dressed in hooded Ceremonial Robes – crimson for Donald and a deep, rich purple for Timmy – borrowed from Her closet.

 

But what could they eat?  Even his favorite brand of moist Kat food sounded unappealing to Timmy, and dry kibble sounded terrible to them both.  Neither knew how to cook or what to cook, and lives were nearly lost when Donald tried to open a tin of beef stew with the electric can opener.  Luckily,  Timmy remembered that She had recently purchased a refrigerator, and that refrigerators are, by nature, full of food.  It was hard to decide what to choose, but in the end, Timmy selected a bowl of tuna salad – he picked out the pickle chunks but found the mayonnaise a pleasant addition to his favorite fishy treat – and washed it down with a tall glass of buttermilk. 

 

Donald, who was by far the more adventurous – if less discriminating – of the two, polished off leftover meatloaf, a small dish of potato salad, a large dish of chocolate pudding, baked beans, a cluster of red grapes, and the pickle chunks from Timmy’s salad.  He ate so much that Timmy was afraid it would all end up in a splatter on the living room rug before the hour was out, but somehow he kept it down, though Timmy did notice him rubbing his belly from time to time and belching discreetly.

 

Once their food had a chance to settle, they went back to bed and made love again, each of them giving the other everything he had to give and finding pleasure in all he was given.  Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms and shared everything they knew to be true about themselves, communicating not just with words, but with hands and bodies and their very hearts so they could more fully understand each other.  By nightfall, they found that words were becoming less necessary, that their thoughts could flow between them through a touch or a mutual glance as easily as they could through speech. 

 

“Do you miss being a Kat?” Donald asked after a long silence in which they’d told each other many important things.

 

“I’m still a Kat, and you’re still a Dawg.  We look different now, but in a few hours She’ll come home and everything will go back to the way it was before.”

 

Donald raised up on one elbow to look at him.  “Everything?”

 

“Well, maybe not everything.  I’ll still be a Kat, and you’ll still be a Dawg.  That much will be the same.  It’s what we are together that’s changed.”

 

“And what are we together?”

 

Timmy pulled Donald into a kiss, a long, slow one that ended with a playful nibble on his lower lip.  “Together,” he said.  “Just that.  We’re together.  And we always will be.”

 

“I love you, Timmy,” Donald said softly.

 

“Two Men can love each other, but we aren’t really Men.  You’re a Dawg, and Dawgs don’t love Kats.  Dawgs love mud puddles and rummaging through the garbage and eating Her best shoes.  And Kats don’t love Dawgs.  Kats love licking the last bit of milk from Her cereal bowl and kippers and sleeping in the sun.   But a Dawg and a Kat can learn to get along.  A Dawg and a Kat can play together and look out for each other and curl up together by the fire.  And that’s the way it’s going to be from now on.”

 

“But if we really were both Human….”

 

“If we really were both Human, I think I would love you very much.”

 

“Well, I know I love you,” Donald said, his PuppyBlue eyes so bright and big they seemed to fill up the world.  “I loved you before and I love you now, and I need to say that in words while I still can.  And once we’ve turned back, I’ll show you in other ways, so you’ll understand.  No matter what we look like or what we do, you’ll always know how I feel about you, okay?”

 

“Okay,” said Timmy.

 

They continued talking with and without words for much of the night, watching as the light from the bright double moon streamed through the window, turning everything in the room the same deep velvet blue of the sky, the color of dreams.  Without meaning to, they found themselves dreaming, and awoke just before First Light to the sound of the front door slamming.

 

TimmyKat sprang to his feet and leapt to the floor, scurrying under the bed just as She appeared in the doorway.  But PuppyDonaldDawg wasn’t so lucky.  She scooped him up from where he lay in a tangle of blankets, groggy-eyed and scratching, and cried, “First the couch and now the bed!  You know you’re not supposed to be here!”

 

Peeking out from beneath the bed skirt, TimmyKat watched as PuppyDonaldDawg squirmed, whining to get down.  But She just hefted him higher in Her arms and marched into the kitchen with TimmyKat scuttling along behind. 

 

“I give you a good home and good things to eat, but what thanks do I get?  Broken rules and muddy paw prints!  It’s the doghouse for you until you learn some manners!”  With that, she flung open the back door and deposited PuppyDonaldDawg on the drippity-wet stoop.  “Go on,” She said.  “Shoo!” 

 

TimmyKat caught a glimpse of the saddest PuppyBlue eyes he’d ever seen staring back at him as the door swung softly closed.  He dashed across the room, leaping to his favorite perch on the window ledge just in time to see PuppyDonaldDawg make his way across the yard, his step without its usual spring and tail decidedly drooping, sploshing dejectedly through every mud puddle along the way.  Once he made it to the Dawghouse, he looked back just once, and spotting TimmyKat at the window, wagged his tail briefly.  Then he went inside, and all TimmyKat could see of him was the tip of his snout poking out the Dawghouse door. 

 

“Oh, my stars and garters!” She moaned as She plopped into the old wooden rocker by the kitchen hearth.  “Come sit on my lap, Timmy.  I’ll straighten the bed and hex the couch back into shape in a bit, but first I want to relax with my favorite Familiar.  Come here, Little TimmyKat, and tell me all about your night.”

 

TimmyKat couldn’t tell Her about the night or anything else, of course, and he knew she didn’t really expect him to.  The ManSpeak was lost to him, as he’d known it would be when the Spell ended, and all he could do was settle on Her boney Witch knees – for he was a GoodKat and always did as he was told – and mew plaintively.

 

Since he couldn’t speak, She held up his end of the conversation as well as Her own, prattling on in Her scritchity screech of a voice about Incantations and Potions and The Crypt Keeper Who Got Away, all the while stroking his fur til it crackled.  Normally, he would have enjoyed the attention and shown his appreciation by kneading Her lap with his neat white paws.  But on this particular morning his mind wasn’t on his duties as LapKat.  It was on the sad Beagledy-Thing in the cold and leaking Dawghouse at the far corner of the back yard.

 

TimmyKat felt terrible about PuppyDonaldDawg being punished while he was warm and dry, receiving conversation and caresses.  He’d been on the bed, too, and only his fast Feline reflexes had saved him from discovery.  The guilt ate away at him, as guilt always does, but it was nearly overshadowed by another emotion, one he had never felt before. 

 

He missed PuppyDonaldDawg horribly.

 

TimmyKat gave his black, pointed ears a firm twitch.  He told himself that he was a Kat and PuppyDonaldDawg was a Dawg, and that was all there was to that.  A Kat might learn to get along with a Dawg and even enjoy his company, but that was as far as Nature intended it to go.  And while a Kat certainly might feel sympathy for an unlucky Dawg’s plight, there really was nothing a Kat could do about it.  TimmyKat had always been Kat through and through, and proud of it.  But he knew what it was to be Human now as well as Kat, and though he was home again in his sleek, furry body, something inside him had changed forever.  Kat he might be, but something of the Man remained. 

 

Perhaps there wasn’t much a Kat could do to help a Dawg in need, but maybe, just maybe, there was something a KatMan could do.

 

TimmyKat slipped off Her lap and returned to the window ledge, meowing loudly as he alternately batted the glass with his neat white paws and looked back at Her beseechingly. 

 

“No, Timmy, he can’t come inside until tonight,” She said.  “He got on my bed when he knew he wasn’t supposed to, and he’s being punished.  Come back to my lap.  I need to relax.”

 

Reluctantly, TimmyKat settled on Her knees again – for he was still a GoodKat and tried very hard to do as he was told – but he was off again in a heartbeat, this time scratching at the back door and yowling frantically. 

 

“Moonbeams and mausoleums!” She shouted.  “Stop that racket at once.  You’re giving me a headache.  Get away from that door and come back here at once!”

 

TimmyKat did go back to Her, but instead of jumping onto Her lap, he sat at Her feet and cried up at Her as only a Kat with a Man’s understanding of love could cry.  Then he ran back to the door and scratched at it again.          

 

“All right, have it your way!”  With a wave of Her wand, the door eased open.  TimmyKat shivered as a cold, damp wind blew through the crack, showering him with dead leaves and water droplets.  “Well, go on if you must,” She told him.  And although She scritched the words at him in Her scratchiest scritchy screech, TimmyKat saw that She was smiling.

 

Nothing moves faster than a Kat in the rain.  TimmyKat darted across the wet sloshity mess that was the lawn, skimming over puddles as he made a furious Feline beeline for the Dawghouse.  PuppyDonaldDawg leapt to his feet, tail tip beating a wild rhythm against the side of the rickety building as TimmyKat dashed inside and pounced on him.  They rolled together, tussling and nuzzling, TimmyKat rubbing the full length of his sleek, furry body against PuppyDonaldDawg, loving the sound of the excited whimpers and happy barks that greeted him. 

 

But the Dawghouse leaked, and a chilly wind blew through the door.  PuppyDonaldDawg’s handsome coat was a sodden, muddy mess.  So TimmyKat pressed his forepaws firmly against PuppyDonaldDawg’s side to stop him from wriggling, then nudged him toward a dry corner farthest away from the door so he could clean him properly.  Starting with the tip of the wet, black nose and working his way back to the waggledy, black-tipped tail, TimmyKat groomed PuppyDonaldDawg as thoroughly as any MotherKat ever groomed her Kittens, listening all the while to the HappyDawg music PuppyDonaldDawg couldn’t seem to stop making. 

 

When he was done, the two of them touched noses.  PuppyDonaldDawg gave him a great, soft lick with his big, pink tongue, and TimmyKat noted that the lick was hardly a wet lick at all.  Then the two of them settled in together, TimmyKat pressed snug and warm against the Dawg’s side, while PuppyDonaldDawg wrapped a protective paw around him and gazed down with sleepy eyes as deep velvet blue as the sky.

 

TimmyKat yawned and stretched, ready for a well-earned nap.  The wind might be chilly and the Dawghouse leaky, but they had a dry corner to sleep in.  They were safe and they were warm and they were together.  Most of all, they were together.

 

And for the first time in his life, TimmyKat was purring.

 


End file.
